


give me mercy no more (it’s a kindness you can’t afford)

by Jimcloud, spacejames



Series: ‘cause i am the lying man, and i have made you my next victim [2]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Concussions, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, developing feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25685524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimcloud/pseuds/Jimcloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacejames/pseuds/spacejames
Summary: Geez. Ouma sure looks unsteady. And there’s… something pink on his face.“Ouma?” Momota says carefully, climbing a few steps. “You good, man?”
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi
Series: ‘cause i am the lying man, and i have made you my next victim [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862599
Comments: 8
Kudos: 193





	give me mercy no more (it’s a kindness you can’t afford)

**Author's Note:**

> this is kaito's perspective of chapter three in [in the light i swear we will deny it all](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25625779/chapters/62357785), my and jim's multichapter oumota fic, but it can be read as a standalone as well.
> 
> (title is from "it will come back" by hozier)

Alright! It’s class trial time!

… Wait, Momota shouldn’t sound so pumped about this. And he’s not, of course he’s not, Angie and Chabashira are dead, but. Well. It means that soon Momota won’t have to think about creepy shit like ghosts or seances or resurrection rituals, or feel guilty while Shuichi and everyone else investigates and he just… sits there uselessly. 

(Not like he’s ever much use during investigations anyway, but still.)

Deciding to get a head start on catching up with everyone else, Momota starts to head up the stairs to the fourth floor, intending to meet up with Shuichi and Harumaki and find out what they discovered. He’s sure his sidekicks did an incredible job, no need to even worry ab—

Momota skids to a halt in the middle of the stairs, nearly tripping over himself when he sees Ouma standing at the top of the stairs. Automatically, his brow starts to furrow, the now-familiar spark of irritation that always accompanies the sight of Ouma lighting in his chest, but… 

Geez. Ouma sure looks unsteady. And there’s… something pink on his face. 

“Ouma?” Momota says carefully, climbing a few steps. “You good, man?”

At the sound of his voice, Ouma lifts a hand to wave, and wobbles dangerously. Momota lurches forward, scrambling up the last couple steps to stand by his side. His stomach flips over at the sight of the blood on Ouma’s hand—the blood that’s dripping down his forehead, garish fuchsia against skin so pale it looks slightly blue. 

Jesus. What the fuck _happened?_ Ouma said he tripped, but this is—

“Never better!” Ouma chirps, and his voice sounds just as shaky and off-balance as he looks. He laughs in a way that sounds nothing like his usual _nishishi,_ but a hysterical little giggle that rises and falls erratically. “This is real blood, see?” He grins and holds out two bloody fingers for Kaito to see. “I tripped! Isn’t that neat?”

“Hey, take it easy,” Momota says, anxiety coloring his voice. He reaches out with gentle hands, placing them on Ouma’s shoulders, turning the smaller boy to face him. “Can you look at me?” He almost definitely has a concussion, but Momota wants to be sure.

Ouma’s eyes go up toward him, but they don’t focus on his face. They’re glassy, pupils blown wide, which could just be from the dim lighting on this floor, but Momota really, really doubts that. He sways a little on his feet, and Momota steadies him.

“Stupid wood,” Ouma mutters, his gaze no longer even trying to stay focused. “Outlawing wood when I own Japan. It’s hurt me for the last time.”

Momota’s frown deepens, a line between his brows. So, definitely a concussion, then. The symptoms check out: disorientation, lack of focus, confusion, and the obvious head injury. 

The real question is how severe it is. But Ouma’s on his feet, and he’s not, like, throwing up, or blacking out, so those are good signs. And he seems mostly aware of what’s happening. 

But this really needs to be treated, immediately if possible. Well, “treated”—there’s not much you can do for a concussion, but Ouma should at least clean the injury, and take some pain medication before the trial starts. If he can even get down the stairs to do so. What if he falls and hurts himself worse?

… 

Momota makes an executive decision, and scoops Ouma up in his arms.

Ouma’s eyes dart around, then settle on Momota again. “Hey now, hey now, hey now,” he says, voice unsteady, “don’t you have, like, a killer girlfriend or something? I think I need to see an attorney about this.”

“A k—” Momota shuts his mouth, face warming a little as he starts to carefully make his way down the stairs with Ouma cradled in his arms. Of course, even concussed, Ouma is determined to harass him about _something._ Although, honestly, Momota has no idea where _that_ one is coming from. Maybe the concussion is scrambling his brain or something. 

Momota clears his throat. “Look, just—I’m taking you to my room to treat your wound, okay? You can’t just walk into the trial with blood dripping down your face. You’re gonna scare the shit out of everybody.” _You scared the shit out of_ me, he adds silently. 

Really, Ouma shouldn’t be going to the trial at all, if he’s got a concussion. He should be resting. But Momota seriously doubts that Monokuma is going to let Ouma sit out.

“It’d be _fun!”_ Ouma coos. “Just imagine! I walk in like, _surprise!_ It’ll be the best part.”

“Fun for _you,_ maybe,” Momota mutters under his breath. He’s almost positive that that’s a lie, but he’s too focused on carrying Ouma as gently and smoothly as possible while he descends the stairs to call him out on it. 

Plus, like. The guy’s got a fucking head injury. Momota thinks he can cut Ouma’s bullshit some slack, for once. 

… 

Ouma is small. Like, Momota knows this, he’s well aware that he’s got nearly a foot on the other boy, but... like this, bloody and babbling, curled up in Momota’s arms, he _feels_ small. He’s light, too. Almost… delicate. Breakable. It reminds Momota that Ouma’s human, just like the rest of them. 

Frankly, it’s a little bit terrifying. Momota quickens his pace a little as he reaches the first floor and heads for the door out into the courtyard.

“Yeah, you get me,” Kokichi grins, “fun for _me!”_ The grin on his face falls. “Hey, Kaito-chan, do you wanna know a secret to having fun all the time?”

Dammit. _Dammit._ Momota very nearly falters when Ouma uses his given name, and it’s only out of sheer determination that he manages to keep his steady pace. He pushes the door open with his hip, carefully maneuvering through it and out into the courtyard, and spares a glance down at Ouma. 

Mmm. He really doesn’t look too good. His violet eyes are glazed, pupils still dilated even now that they’re out in the light, and the blood on his face shines when it catches the sun. A few strands of hair are stuck to his forehead, matted with blood, and Momota has to resist the urge to brush them away, not least because he doesn’t have any hands free. 

Also, that would be really fucking weird and tender, and Momota Kaito is not supposed to be feeling anything _resembling_ tender toward Ouma Kokichi. 

“Mm?” he hums in response, lifting his gaze and fixing it on the dorm building ahead.

“See, the trick is,” Ouma’s voice is steadier, now, like this is important, “when you’re in pain, all you’ve gotta do to have fun,” he grins widely, “is make a _game_ out of it. Today’s game is gonna be seeing how many people I can scare the _shit_ out of.”

Momota does falter at that, his gait slowing a bit as he glances down at Ouma again, frowning in surprise. Jesus. Is that… is that how he is all the time? Is that why he treats everything like it’s just a game? Because he’s in pain?

“That’s kinda fucked up, Ouma,” he says at length, though his voice is even as he pushes the door to the dorms open and steps through.

Ouma giggles. “Well, yeah, Kaito-chan,” he says, grinning still, “you don’t get to be a supreme leader of evil by being a not-fucked-up person.”

Momota just lets out a noncommittal hum as he climbs the stairs to the upper floor of the dorms. Standing in front of his door, he has a moment of _what the hell am I supposed to do now,_ because there’s no way he can get his key out of his pocket with Ouma still in his arms. 

Mmmm. Fuck it. 

Gently, carefully, Momota shifts Ouma so that he’s held against his chest with one arm, legs dangling a bit, and Ouma lets out a little, tiny “whee” as he’s moved. It’s not the most sustainable position, so he has to be quick as he slips his hand in his pocket and pulls out his room key. Once the door’s unlocked, he goes back to carrying Ouma bridal style, nudging the door open with his foot and stepping inside. 

Alright. _You can do this, Luminary._

Momota carries Ouma into the bathroom and flicks the light on, then cautiously sets him down on the closed toilet lid. “Stay there,” he instructs—as if Ouma’s going to try to go anywhere—and leans over the counter, opening the cabinet behind the mirror and getting out a bottle of painkillers and a washcloth.

Glancing around the bathroom, Ouma looks confused. “This isn’t my room,” he notes, frowning, “are you kidnapping me? Are we gonna do crimes? Are we gonna miss the trial? I have a very busy schedule, you know, I can only fit in so _many_ crimes a day.”

Momota turns the faucet on low, opening the bottle of painkillers and setting a couple pills down on the counter next to Ouma. “Take those,” he says. “No, I’m not kidnapping you. We’re in my bathroom right now. I’m gonna clean up your wound.” He considers pointing out that he said this earlier, but like. Concussion. As he speaks, he gets one side of the washcloth wet, folding it over on itself. “And we’re not gonna miss the trial. Monokuma wouldn’t start it without us.”

… He’s pretty sure, anyway.

Ouma slumps back against the toilet, seeming a bit relieved. He takes the pills and swallows them, easy. “Good thing he won’t start without us,” he hums, smiling, “the class trial is my favorite part!”

At that, Momota makes a face, turning off the water and wringing some of the moisture out of the washcloth, so it’s not dripping. “Of course it is,” he mumbles, but there’s no bite to the words. He kneels down in front of Ouma, washcloth in hand, and examines him for a moment. 

He should definitely start by cleaning up all that blood, huh. 

“Alright. Sit still,” he says, firm but gentle. Carefully, he uses the wet end of the washcloth and begins to wipe away the blood that’s dripped down Ouma’s face, starting at his jaw and working his way up toward his forehead.

“Uh huh,” Ouma says, surprisingly complacent as he stills, eyes fluttering shut.

While he works, Momota takes the opportunity to really examine Ouma’s face, up close, in a way he’s never gotten the chance to before. He’s got sort of delicate features, actually. His eyelashes are short and dark, resting on top of his cheeks. If it weren’t for the blood Momota’s scrubbing off his skin, Kokichi’s expression would be almost peaceful. 

Vulnerable. That’s what it is, really. Kaito swallows, brushing a little curl of hair away from Kokichi’s eyes with the backs of his fingers before he continues to clean his face.

“Hey, have you ever played a game called Mafia?” Kokichi says, peppy-sounding. “I think some people call it Werewolf, too.” 

“Mm,” Kaito hums, low, thoughtful. “Don’t think I have, actually. Sounds kinda familiar, though.” He shifts a bit on his knees, moving over to the other side of Kokichi’s face.

Kokichi echoes his hum. “It’s a real basic idea. You got a couple of people are the mafia, and the rest of the people are villagers. Every ‘night’, mafia kill somebody. Village have to find out who mafia are, and they lynch one person per day to find out who. Mafia have to keep from being lynched by village.” He grins. “Sound similar to anything?”

Kaito snorts quietly. “Little bit,” he says, using his free hand to smooth the hair back off of Kokichi’s forehead. He can see the cut, right around his hairline; it doesn’t look too deep, thankfully. Head injuries just tend to bleed a lot. 

Shifting back, Kaito lets Kokichi’s hair fall back down. “Gonna rinse out the washcloth real quick, and then I’ll finish up,” he murmurs, reaching over to brace himself on the edge of the counter as he pulls himself to his feet. He hides a wince as he does so, feeling the ache in his knees from kneeling on the hard tile, but whatever. It’s worth it. 

He turns on the faucet again and rinses out the washcloth, watching pink-tinted water swirl around the sink before disappearing down the drain. “So, how do the villagers win the game?” Kaito asks, turning off the sink and squeezing the water out of the towel.

“You lynch all of the mafia members,” Kokichi explains. “Easy. If anything, the killing game is easier than all that. In Mafia, all the mafia members know who each other are and they’re working together. And there’s no evidence to work from, besides knowing that _someone_ is lying.”

Kokichi raises a finger, starting to turn his head. His eyes roll, a bit, a pained look flickering across his face. “So, uh, the, uh,” he blinks, “the game is just to expose the liars and get as many people home safe as you can.”

Kaito frowns, kneeling back down in front of Kokichi and gently gripping his chin with his free hand. “Hey, take it easy,” he warns softly. “Try not to move your head too much, alright?”

He releases Kokichi’s chin, smoothing his hair back from his forehead again. “This is probably gonna hurt,” he says, voice still soft, before he starts to gingerly clean the wound on Kokichi’s head. Kokichi winces, just barely, but his expression is mostly neutral. Kaito’s being as careful as he can possibly be, mostly just trying to get the blood out of his hair at first, but it’s a bit difficult to see because Kokichi’s hair is so dark. 

“Bet you’re good at that game,” Kaito remarks, without really thinking about it too hard. He’s mostly focused on his task, a little crease between his brows as he concentrates.

“Yep!” Kokichi grins. “Turns out those skills play surprisingly well in class trials.” He pauses, though, frowning. “Well, some of them.”

“Yeah?” Kaito hums, glancing down at Kokichi’s face for a second before his gaze returns to where he’s dabbing gently at the cut. “Which ones?”

“If you want to expose a liar, you have to corner them psychologically,” Kokichi insists, bluntly. “Also, making yourself suspicious to see who jumps on it. The bad guys _want_ you to get the wrong person. So they’re eager to follow any suspicions that lead to the wrong person.” He frowns. “The main issue is that in here, you’re literally playing with lives. So some of the better tactics don’t work so well!”

“Mm.” That makes sense, Kaito thinks. Sounds a lot like Ouma. “S’that what you do? Make yourself look suspicious to see who jumps on it?”

“Sometimes!” Kokichi giggles. “Truth be told, I’m just naturally suspicious, you know! This lets me put it to work.”

Kaito’s brow furrows. He wipes away the last bit of blood, but hesitates instead of pulling back, meeting Kokichi’s violet eyes and tilting his head a little. Kokichi looks back at him, clearly struggling to focus, but doing an okay job of it.

“Sounds pretty dangerous, Ouma,” Kaito says after a moment, voice quieter than he intends it to be. _Kokichi_ is on the tip of his tongue and he doesn’t know why, only that he just barely manages to bite it back.

(They’re awfully close, aren’t they?)

“Oh, are you _worried_ about _me,_ Kaito-chan?” Kokichi grins, raising a finger up to poke Kaito’s nose. “That’s cu—” He misses, and gets Kaito’s cheek instead, “fuck. _Anyways,_ ” he gestures the hand away, “I can take care of myself, but it’s sweet of you to worry!”

Kaito blinks at Kokichi for a moment, his nose wrinkling as he tries to pretend his stomach doesn’t flutter at the sound of his name in Kokichi’s voice, _again._

Dammit. What the hell is _wrong_ with him? It’s not like Momota to get so flustered over something like this. 

“I know you can,” he says after a moment, and moves his hand away, so that he’s no longer holding Kokichi’s hair back. It breaks the spell he’s under, a little bit, and he rises, setting the washcloth down on the edge of the sink. 

He glances at the bottle of painkillers he’d left out. Hm. 

“Hey, Ouma,” Kaito says, picking up the bottle and making sure the cap is screwed on all the way before presenting it to him. “Take these with you, yeah?”

_You need them more than I do._

Kokichi inspects the bottle for a moment before taking it up in his hands. Slowly, on unsteady legs, he lifts himself up off the porcelain. Kaito doesn’t mean to hover, but he ends up sort of doing it anyway, his hands lifted just slightly away from his sides, ready to catch Kokichi if he stumbles. 

“Porcelain,” Kokichi whispers, giggling to himself.

 _… Y’know, Kokichi, that’s not super reassuring,_ Kaito thinks.

“You good to go?” is all he ends up saying, though he’s still frowning.

“Yep!” Kokichi chirps as he straightens himself up. He still looks a little bit wobbly on his feet, but Kaito did a pretty good job cleaning him up, so. At least there’s not blood all over his face anymore. “Totally clean, see?” Kokichi taps his forehead for emphasis. “Now I can’t scare _anybody._ ” He frowns. “Unless I try real hard, then I can probably scare somebody anyways, maybe.”

Mm. Alright, Kokichi. Kaito’s still worried, but it is what it is. And they really need to get going. If they don’t show up soon, people are going to get suspicious—that is, if they aren’t already.

“Let’s go, then,” says Momota, opening the bathroom door for Ouma.

“Yeah!” Ouma shouts, and Momota winces. “Woo _hoo! CLASS TRIAL!”_ He pauses, then, and lifts a hand up to his head. “Maybe shouldn’t have done that,” he adds, quieter, “whoops.”

“Yeah, try to take it easy on the yelling for a bit, buddy,” Momota remarks, following Ouma as he steps through the door slowly, but less unsteadily than he was walking earlier.

“See, now I just want to do it anyways,” Ouma turns a little and waves a finger in Momota’s direction, “see what you did? That’s a problem.”

Momota sighs, heading over to grab the bedroom door, holding this one open for Ouma as well. “Should I have tried to, like, reverse-psychology you or some shit like that?”

“No, that never works,” Ouma shakes his head, then stops abruptly, taking a second to reorient himself. 

Jesus. He’s kind of a mess, huh? 

“ _Anyways,_ ” Ouma says, like that never happened, “you’ve gotta _really_ want me to yell if you want me to stop yelling. Obviously.”

Another sigh escapes Momota as he lets the door shut behind them, locking it before he starts off down the stairs. “Whatever, Ouma,” he says, though there’s no real irritation in his tone. The guy’s gonna get the last word no matter what Momota does. Better to just give in now.

Besides. They have more important things to focus on now.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> you can reach me on tumblr at [space-james](https://space-james.tumblr.com/), on my danganronpa sideblog [space-saihara](https://space-saihara.tumblr.com/), or on my twitter [spacesaihara](https://twitter.com/spacesaihara)!


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